He's My Son
by QueenOfHearts3
Summary: We all know what Madeline thought of her son, but what of Charles? Erik's father speaks out. Brief one-shot, Kay-verse.


A/N: this lil phiclet (my first, mind) was inspired by an achingly beautiful song of the same name, written and performed by Mark Shultz. in case you dont know the story behind it, he wrote it for a friend whose young son was battling leukemia (it will have you sobbing like a child, i swear it). i thought a similar plea would work for Charles, Erik's father, and its high time he had his say. originally written several months ago for my friends on a PotO board

_He's My Son_

I'd watched anxiously from afar as Madeleine struggled to bring him into the world that fateful day. Even as a spiritual creature, I still worry for my family as I had in life. This unexpected aspect of my nature had always exasperated my lovely child-wife, but I couldn't help it. The very prospect of fatherhood was enough to plunge my formerly rational mind into near chaotic joy, and I wanted absolutely nothing to go wrong. I'd told her that this child was very special to me. I'd thought at the time that it made me feel like God. Only now, watching with Him, do I truly understand the import of that emotion.

I must have still been thinking in human terms then, for when I first set eyes on my newborn son, I fully believe that my heart momentarily froze within my incorporeal chest. I must admit that I was shocked beyond imagination. How was this humanly possible? Even now, so many years later in their world, I still don't understand it. From the very moment of his birth, Erik has defied almost every law and belief known to man, yet managed to withstand it all with a tenacity that seemed as supernatural as the rest of him.

I tried time and again to intercede on Erik's behalf, orchestrate certain events in his favor, but we departed souls can only do so much. We can't change the hearts of our mortal brethren by ourselves, you know, as that crosses the line of "free will." They must _want_ the change and, unfortunately, the living tend to be quite blind to the Truth. I could never begin to describe to you the ache that suffused my being every time the world denied him, every crushing blow that would have shattered me had I been in his place. And had I the power, I _would_ have been. Oh, how I longed to simply whisk him away from it all… yet it was not my right to do so. It took me a very long time to understand this, but he had to live the life given to him as best he could.

I like to think he succeeded, personally. Oh yes, he has committed crime after blasphemy in the eyes of those around him; there could be no doubt about that. Erik was plagued with many demons… taunting him, seducing him to Evil, more than any one man I had ever known. Job and I are friends, you see. We've discussed the matter several times over our weekly Chess match, and he agrees wholeheartedly. He's also quick to point out that, while nearly everything he'd ever treasured had been taken from him during that infamous episode in his own life, at least he had always known what it was to be loved. My lost and troubled boy, on the other hand…

In spite all of that, Erik has created so many beautiful things in such a wide variety of fields, even in my own beloved craft of masonry. True masterpieces that, had any one of them been delivered by another, would have immediately been declared priceless. I would be lying if I said that I was not incensed for him, even in this apparently shallow regard. As a fellow artist, I know what it is to want appreciation for my creative efforts. Even simple acknowledgement would suffice. It is at times like these that I wish for my humanity back, just to tell him of my profound admiration. I'm so very proud of him that words could never begin to define, and I would doubtlessly make an utter fool of myself in attempting to convince him. Never mind what he would think if I said that I love him.

But of course I am, and do. He's my son, and I can only pray that he will find peace someday.


End file.
